Pirates and a Princess
by crazybeagle
Summary: You have been telling people the story we agreed on, right?" "Well...yes." Her eyes narrowed. "Well, mostly yes," he amended. Sometimes the truth can be stranger than fiction. The third and final part of my "To Feel" series. Full of long-overdue fluff.


_**Pirates and a Princess**_

**The Third and Final Part of the "To Feel" Series**

**AN- I know I owe everyone updates for other stories of mine, but this idea's been floating around in my head for months. Hopefully this shall alleviate some of the angst. **

**Disclaimer- I don't own, I REEEEENT! ^_^**

"You done yet?" Fiyero was sitting leaned against a tree trunk, his fingers idly tugging at the blades of grass and wildflowers on the ground.

Elphaba looked back over her shoulder at him. She was hunched over a washboard and kneeling on the pebbly, shady riverbank. Her sleeves were pushed up and her hair tied back in a knot, pieces of it falling into her face. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead. She rolled her eyes at him but smiled before turning back to scrubbing the pile of clothing. "Be patient," she chided.

"But I'm _bored_," he muttered under his breath. "And it's your _birthday_," he added, picking a daisy growing next to him and throwing it at her. "You shouldn't be doing laundry on your birthday."

"Do you want to be stuck in the things you're wearing now for the rest of the month?" she asked without looking up. "This is the first sunny day we've had in nearly two weeks, and I figure I'd better take advantage of it and get all this blasted mud out of our clothes."

Fiyero sighed and sat back against the tree. She was right. Summer was the rainy season in southern Ix, and while the weather was warm, it stayed wet and muggy the majority of the time. It meant that the countryside and forests surrounding the village in which they'd settled stayed lush and green, but it conversely meant that the air was heavy and sticky, that their clothing and shoes were constantly damp. The poorly shingled roof of their home, which was really just an emptied out supply shed wedged between two village shops that they'd rented from the blacksmith, was constantly leaking, and the wooden walls were starting to smell strongly of mildew. And if he'd thought that moving around on crutches was difficult on desert sands, it was nothing compared to trying to maneuver himself over mud and wet cobblestones. In the past few weeks, he'd slipped and fallen flat on his face twice. And as much as it had _hurt_, and left him more than a little humiliated, the fun part of it all was to reassure a panicked Elphaba that he was alright by dragging her down with him and giving her a big, wet, muddy hug.

He closed his eyes, listening to her hum as she worked. The lilting melody was accompanied by the soft _shhhhh_ of the water as it passed over the river rocks and the methodic grating of the wet clothing against the metal board. He gave it about five minutes before trying again. "Will you at least let me help you?" He knew what the answer would be before she responded.

"No." Her voice was flat, emphatic.

He switched tactics. "But that can't be very comfortable doing all that alone, being pregnant…"

She glared at him. "I'm not _that _pregnant."

"Pregnant enough," he said carefully. There had been a night, toward the tail end of their journey through the Impassable Desert, when they'd accidentally snapped the chain of Elphaba's anti-pregnancy charm. And by the time they'd found this village late in the spring, she was beginning to show. Fiyero thought that was the reason they'd both been able to get jobs so quickly upon their arrival. Regardless of Elphaba's being green, the villagers pitied the sight of an obviously pregnant woman and a very obviously crippled man, who had no home or food.

Elphaba's jaw clenched, and she scrubbed the shirt in her hands so hard that he was afraid she would wear a hole in it. He frowned. He'd been overjoyed to find out that she was pregnant, but Elphaba hardly ever acknowledged the fact that in a few months' time she'd be giving birth to _their _child. She always looked nervous, like a panicked deer, every time he brought it up, and he had his suspicions that for some reason she was afraid of being a mother. But regardless of the reason, he had no doubt that her parenting skills were sure to outshine his own.

"I'm perfectly capable of performing simple housekeeping tasks, thank you very much," she said tersely.

"So am I," he countered.

She let out a low, frustrated growl. "No, you can't, because you're c-" she said before she could stop herself, trailing off when she realized what she'd almost said. She turned slowly, biting her lip guiltily when she registered his hurt expression. "I'm sorry," she said softly. He nodded once, stiffly. "What I meant was," she continued, her tone gentle, "it hasn't been all that long since...you know. And I don't want you to hurt yourself. That's why the laundry's my job."

"I know," he muttered, but he couldn't banish the sensation of ice sinking into the pit of his stomach. _Crippled. _How he hated that word.

"And I thought that damp weather bothered you, anyhow," she said as she stood to drape the shirt over a nearby thicket to dry.

He sighed. "It's not that bad today. Which is another reason why," he continued, eager to change the subject, "we should be spending the day _celebrating_. You even left work early when I came to pick you up, and you _never _do that." And he had left work even earlier than she had, knowing he'd have to work some massive overtime shifts to make up for it. He considered it well worth it, though, seeing as he had absolutely nothing else to give her. Had he tried to get her something with the money from their meager savings, he knew she'd lecture him about it and probably make him return it. And he was awful when it came to the area of sentimental homemade gifts, so he hadn't even bothered. So as stingy and unthoughtful as it made him feel, the only thing he could do was clear the day to spend time with her and pray that she found that time meaningful.

She shook her head. "I left early because I figured that if I didn't get you out of there, and fast, we were going to have a situation on our hands, judging by the way the other shop girls were looking at you."

He smirked. "Am I sensing some jealousy, Fae?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well, I'll admit that the fact that every woman in the village between the ages of fifteen and fifty fancies herself in love with you does grate on my nerves a bit."

"Well, not _every _woman," he chuckled. But she had a point, sort of. Elphaba worked at the town apothecary. They both figured that this would be a good place for her, as she was able to observe and interact with the local population of magic-users. It also meant that few inquired about the color of her skin- upon coming to Ix, they'd learned that the commonplace nature of sorcery, even on the nation's very outskirts, meant that freak accidents and bizarre side effects caused by magic were not unusual. All she needed to tell people was that a new spell she'd been trying had backfired in a bad way. The only unfortunate aspect of the whole situation was that the majority of Elphaba's coworkers were women, women whose small-town lives had instilled them with a tendency toward gossip and jealousy. So inevitably, he'd found himself surrounded by a gaggle of flirtatious, chattering witches as he sat and waited that afternoon and prayed that Elphaba would hurry up and finish doing inventory or whatever she was up to that was keeping her busy in the back rooms of the apothecary. "But remind me not to come into that place during your working hours again." He shook his head. "I'm just a clerk at the grocery, and I've barely talked to anyone here yet. How exciting could they possibly think I am?"

Elphaba crossed her arms and smiled wryly. "Think about it. A tiny, inconsequential village full of ordinary people leading their dreary, predictable lives, and along comes some handsome, intriguing foreigner…"

"Intriguing, huh?" he asked, amused, sitting up a little straighter.

"Quite," she said. She walked over and knelt down next to him, the laundry temporarily forgotten. "They all have their own speculations as to who you might be and where you came from…And each guess just gets more and more amusing."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Last I heard, you were a cunning, thieving, whoring, notorious outlaw from Quox who barely escaped prison with his life."

"Cunning, thieving, whoring, _and _notorious, huh?" he said. "I like it. Unfortunately for them, though, I doubt that anything they can come up with will be quite as far-fetched as the truth."

"I sure hope so," she muttered. "You _have _been telling people the story we agreed on, right?" She shot him a hard look.

His insides gave a guilty squirm. "Well…yes," he began, but faltered when her eyes narrowed. "Okay, mostly yes," he amended.

"'_Mostly yes?_'" Her voice was quiet and dangerous. He gulped. He had to admit that she was a terrifying sight to behold, towering over him with her hands on her hips and fixing him with a glare that could strip paint.

"Well not that many people have asked," he said quickly. "And mostly I say what you told me to say, but…"  
"But _what_?"

"Sometimes I…uh…embellish a little," he said, not looking at her anymore. He knew he was in trouble with her, but he couldn't keep a small grin from forming on his face.

"Embellish _how?_"

"Mostly little things like 'I lost a bet' or 'You should see the other guy.' I doubt anyone takes it seriously."

She studied his face. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to it than that?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, a few little kids have come up to me and asked where me and you came from, and I tried to give 'em a good story. I may have…altered…some of the details."

She groaned and plopped down to face him. "You shouldn't be doing that, Yero. Our story needs to be solid, and I don't want those kids to be running home telling their mothers and fathers that you…urgh. Nevermind. " She started to stand up. "Just cut it out, okay?"

He caught her hand before she could walk away. "Don't be mad, Fae. I'm not doing any harm." She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "Plus," he continued, "Do you really want me to be telling five-year-olds that I was a mouthy, insubordinate servant to an abusive and alcoholic master?" That was the explanation they'd planned back at Frost's house months ago- two servants who'd fled their master's manor house in northern regions of Oz and caught a convenient caravan leaving for Ix. Fiyero didn't exactly like this explanation, but they both knew- and Frost agreed- that it made feasible sense.

She sighed. "I guess not."

"By the way," he said as he motioned for her to sit down again. "I resent the 'mouthy and insubordinate' part."

"But that's exactly what you are, love." She patted his shoulder in feigned sympathy.

"Well if I'm mouthy and insubordinate," he whispered in her ear, "then so are you, Miss Wicked Witch."

"I am not," she said haughtily. "I merely refuse to be silenced if someone is clearly wrong and I cannot abide injustice."

"…Which is just a fancy way of saying _mouthy_ and _insubordinate_, dearest." He pecked her on the cheek.

She opened her mouth to retort, but something behind him caught her eye. "Hey," she said. She was looking at the ground, confused. "One of your crutches is missing."

"What?" He turned around too quickly to look at the spot where he'd left them, and he winced as his back protested this motion.

Elphaba walked around to the other side of the tree. Her brow knit as her eyes scanned the ground. "It's gone," she said simply.

"Are you sure?" he asked, immediately beginning to panic. Had someone stolen it? Or worse, had that _someone _been eavesdropping? At any rate, getting himself back home with only one of them was going to be a real pain.

"I'm sure." She looked off into the distance at the scattered trees and shrubs that surrounded them. "Could've been an animal- or Animal. Or a person, even. I couldn't hear over the water and scrubbing."

"I didn't hear anyone either." He glanced around nervously.

"I'll go find it," she said resolutely. "Stay put," she added unnecessarily as she walked off.

"Be careful," he called after her.

He spent a few anxious minutes picking at the grass and flowers once more, but he needn't have worried. Soon enough, a smirking Elphaba reappeared, and she wasn't alone.

In one hand, she held the missing crutch, and he laughed to see that its appearance had changed since last he saw it. Twined around the wood were dozens and dozens of flower chains, strung from the daisies and other wildflowers that grew in abundance here by the river.

In her other hand was the tiny wrist of a giggling little girl.

"I'd say I found the culprit," Elphaba said, releasing the girl and handing the crutch to Fiyero.

"Daisy!" Fiyero exclaimed with a grin. The girl erupted into a gale of laughter.

"My name's _not _Daisy!" the girl clarified between giggles. "It's Marda, remember?"

"Oh, I think it's Daisy," he said, tugging at the flowers around the crutch.

The girl gave him a toothy grin before turning to look up at Elphaba. "My name's _Marda_," she insisted matter-of-factly. "Mister Yero just _calls _me Daisy because I _like _daisies."

Elphaba nodded seriously at the girl. "Thank you for clarifying. Now I needn't be confused as to which name I should call you. How do you do, Marda?" She gave the girl an elegant curtsy, and Marda beamed at her.

"Marda's the grocer's daughter," he explained, nodding at the dark-haired five-year-old. "She likes to keep me company at the front desk."

Marda nodded proudly. "I help with the, uh…with the paper-stuff."

"Paperwork?" Fiyero prompted.

"Yeah, paperwork!" she said eagerly. Then she turned to look up at Elphaba. "Are you Miss Fae?"

"I am." Elphaba smiled warmly.

"You're gonna have a baby," she observed. Elphaba's smile faltered but she nodded once.

Marda turned back to Fiyero, and her eyes lit up. "Is Miss Fae the _princess_?" she whispered conspiratorially.

Fiyero closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, praying Elphaba hadn't heard the girl. "Uh-huh," he responded as casually as possible. Marda gasped, turning around to gaze upon Elphaba in wide-eyed wonderment.

"Princess?" Elphaba asked.

_Damn it._

"Mister Yero told me that he rescued a beautiful princess from a ship full of evil pirates," Marda said.

"Did he, now?" Elphaba's eyes locked on his, and he gulped yet again. '_I will kill you for this' _was written all over her face.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Uh-huh. And that's why he needs those," she pointed at the daisy-covered crutch, "because he got hurt fighting the pirates."

"Fascinating," Elphaba said, her eyes never leaving Fiyero's.

"Well, I shoulda known you were a princess, Miss Fae!" Her voice squeaked with excitement. "You just _curtsied_, and everyone knows that only _princesses _curtsy."

"Oh really?" Elphaba said, looking back down at the girl. Fiyero let out the breath he'd been holding in while she was glaring at him.

"Of course," Marda responded. "Everyone knows that."

"Well have you ever tried to curtsy? Maybe you're a princess, too." Elphaba curtsied again, and Marda shakily mimed the action, her little brow furrowed in concentration. "There you go." Elphaba patted her on the back. "Lady Marda, Princess of the Daisies."

Marda giggled. Then she crossed her arms and stared up at Elphaba for a moment, puzzled. "You're green," she said at last. She didn't sound disgusted or afraid, just curious.

"Yes…" Elphaba began.

"You're a princess, and you're green. If Mister Yero kisses you, will you turn into a frog?"

Elphaba caught Fiyero's eye, and they both burst out laughing.

"What?" Marda whined.

"No," Elphaba managed at last. "No, not last time we checked."

Marda put her hands on her little hips. "Prove it."

Fiyero held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. _Princess _Fae," he called, "come and give me a kiss."

She rolled her eyes but played along, kneeling down next to him. She leaned in and kissed him, but not before whispering a menacing "You're gonna pay for this" in his ear.

"It didn't work," Marda said when they broke apart, disappointed. "Maybe…maybe it only works if a _prince_ kisses you, Miss Fae."  
"Yes, that's probably it," Fiyero said solemnly, winking at Elphaba. "Sorry to disappoint."

Marda sighed. "If you ever meet a prince, Miss Fae, kiss him for me! I wanna see. I bet you make the prettiest frog in all of Ix."

"If I ever meet a prince, my dear, you'll be the first to know," Elphaba assured her. "Now you better go find your parents, they're sure to be worried about you by now."

She visibly deflated. "Okay, okay." She flung herself at Elphaba and hugged her tightly around the legs, and then did another wobbly curtsy. "Bye, Princess Fae!" she said brightly. "Have a good birthday!" Elphaba gave her a questioning look, and she explained, "Mister Yero said it was the Princess' birthday today. That's why he left the shop early. I was really bored when he left, but that's okay 'cause it's your birthday," she declared.

"Thank you for sharing him," Elphaba said with a nod.

Then she pranced over to Fiyero and hugged him around the neck before trotting off in the direction of the village.

Fiyero watched her retreating back, bracing himself for what was coming next.

"Fiyero."

He looked up. Elphaba stood rooted to the spot, frowning down at him, eyebrows raised, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

He said nothing. In fact, in spite of himself, he was fighting not to laugh at the whole situation. She stood there for at least a minute, just staring.

At long last, she sighed. She looked completely exasperated with him, but he was surprised to see that she was half-smiling. "You know what?" she snapped.

"What?" He grinned.

"I…I have absolutely nothing to say to you right now," she said wearily. She stalked over to him and bent down swiftly to kiss him on the forehead before returning to the laundry pile once more.

"I love you too, Princess," he laughed.

"Shut up," she muttered, but he could tell that she was mollified.

_Pirates and a princess, _he thought fondly as he watched her return to her vigorous scrubbing. He shrugged. _Ah, let them believe what they will._ Come to think of it, it wasn't really all that far off from the truth.

But the truth just happened to be even stranger.

He'd simply _embellished _a little.

***


End file.
